


realise, actualise

by ictus



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Post-Canon, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25323949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: It’s strange to see Helena like this. Helena’s usually brusque, all hard edges and defensiveness. And yet, here she is: kneeling between Dinah's legs, cradling Dinah's hand the way one would an injured bird, her touch impossibly gentle. This close, Dinah can see every single one of her eyelashes, can count every freckle, and something about the intimacy of that has her heart ratcheting up a notch.Helena patches up Dinah after a mission.
Relationships: Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance
Comments: 22
Kudos: 111
Collections: Little Black Dress Madness 2020





	realise, actualise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti) in the [lbdmadness2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/lbdmadness2020) collection. 



> Many thanks to R for the very speedy but also very thoughtful beta ♥

“Where did you learn to do this?”

Helena, for her part, doesn’t react to Dinah breaking the silence. She just continues tending to the cut on Dinah’s hand, her sutures perfectly even, her hands steady and sure. She’s so engrossed in her task, so silent for so long, that Dinah thinks she hasn’t even been heard. Until finally Helena says, “It was part of my training.”

Dinah frowns. “You mean, your decade-and-a-half-long, intensive training regimen at the hands of Sicilian ex-Mafiosi assassins?”

Helena barely spares Dinah a glance. “Yes,” she says shortly, as if to imply _whatever else?_

Helena returns to her task, and Dinah allows herself a smile. Helena’s life has been stranger than fiction, but her no-nonsense, matter-of-fact take on it is something that never fails to amuse Dinah. Then again, Dinah hasn’t exactly led a cookie cutter existence herself.

Dinah’s gaze drops back down to where Helena is dutifully stitching her up. The cut is the result of a stray shuriken, which is apparently what happens when the League of Shadows decides to show up in Gotham. Helena presses the needle through Dinah’s skin and tugs the thread taut, and the accompanying twinge of pain has Dinah cursing ninja assassins for the hundredth time.

Still. Rather her hand than her throat.

“I didn’t ask,” Dinah says. “Did they get you?”

“Get me how?” Helena asks, inflectionless.

“You know. I mean, they had _samurai swords_ for fuck’s sake.”

“They’re called katanas,” Helena corrects automatically. Then, as if remembering Dinah’s question, she says, “Bruised ribs. Split knuckles. Nothing major.”

Dinah huffs out a breath, disbelieving. Given Helena’s tolerance to pain, she would probably classify everything up to and including internal bleeding as _nothing major._ The cut on Dinah’s hand had caught her attention, though. The second they’d returned to base, Helena had ushered her into the bathroom and sat her down on the edge of the bathtub, giving her strict instructions to apply pressure. She’d returned a second later with a medical kit and begun tending to Dinah’s hand, her focus utterly unwavering ever since.

It’s strange to see Helena like this. Helena’s usually brusque, all hard edges and defensiveness. And yet, here she is: kneeling between Dinah’s legs, cradling her hand the way one would an injured bird, her touch impossibly gentle. This close, Dinah can see every single one of her eyelashes, can count every freckle, and something about the intimacy of that has her heart ratcheting up a notch. Dinah’s all too conscious of the heat radiating off Helena, of her position between her legs, and how it would be all too easy for her to—

“Okay, done,” Helena says suddenly, pulling Dinah from her thoughts. She ties off the sutures and cuts the thread, and Dinah can only stare dumbly at her own hand, appreciating the ten or so sutures that are so perfect, it seems almost impossible that they were done by hand.

“Thanks,” Dinah says a little belatedly. Helena dabs some iodine on Dinah's skin and presses a piece of folded gauze to the wound, then carefully bandages her hand to keep the gauze in place. Dinah flexes her hand, testing her range of movement, impressed that the sutures aren’t so tight so as to tug on her skin.

“This was actually nice,” Dinah says with a laugh. “I should get injured more often.”

It’s entirely the wrong thing to say.

Helena’s face darkens, all her warmth evaporating in an instant. She stands abruptly, knocking the medical kit over with a clatter, causing bottles and gauze to spill out and roll over the floor. Helena scowls at them like they’ve wronged her personally, half-crouching for a second as if to pick them up, only to decide against it a moment later.

“I have to go.” Helena turns on her heel and crosses the bathroom in four easy strides, and Dinah _almost_ lets her.

Almost.

“Helena, wait. I’m sorry if I said something that—”

Dinah breaks off. Helena’s hands have balled into fists, and Dinah doesn’t need to see her face to know her expression; the way her face must be pinched in anger, a deep frown etched between her brows. The look that says she’s about twenty seconds away from beating the shit out of something. 

When Helena finally speaks, it sounds as though it’s through gritted teeth. “It’s fine if you don’t feel the same way, but there’s no reason to make fun of me.”

Dinah’s stomach drops. For a moment, she can only splutter, incredulity and confusion overwhelming her in equal measures. “Helena, I’m not—”

Helena turns sharply, and Dinah’s voice dies in her throat. There’s anger burning in her eyes, but that’s nothing new. No, what’s new is the flush on the tops of her cheekbones, the uncertain set of her shoulders.

“Who told you?” Helena asks quietly.

“Told me what?”

Helena’s face twists into something painful, looking for all the world as if the answer to that question will cost her a great deal. Finally, she mutters, “That I like you.”

Dinah’s eyes widen. Helena doesn’t—

But then she stops herself.

Helena is always finding excuses to be alone with Dinah when they’re training, always hanging back for a chance to talk to her one-on-one. Helena is closed-off and more than a little reserved, but she’ll always find a way to be tactile with Dinah. Small things, like a hand on Dinah’s back, like their shoulders touching as they sit together side-by-side.

Oh.

_Oh._

“Oh,” Dinah says, this time out loud.

Helena’s flush has deepened even further, and she looks as though she wants nothing more than for the earth to swallow her up. “I know you don’t feel the same, but—”

Dinah stops her with an arched eyebrow. Hell if she lets _anyone_ tell her how she feels.

Deciding to spare Helena the lecture just this once, she extends a hand palm-up, like an offering, like an olive branch. “Come here.”

Helena hesitates, her expression a war of indecision, before taking one step forward, and then another, until she’s taking Dinah’s uninjured hand in her own with every ounce of tenderness that she’d shown the other.

“This is me feeling the same,” Dinah murmurs, and bridges those last few inches to press their lips together.

Helena is rigid, unyielding. Dinah cradles the back of her head, her hand tentative at the nape of Helena’s neck, steadying her as she deepens the kiss. For all her reluctance, Helena’s lips part at the slightest pressure, like she can’t _not_ respond to Dinah’s touch, like she’s helpless to it.

“Oh,” Helena says once they finally part. She touches her fingertips to her own lips, stunned.

“Now do you get it?”

Helena nods wordlessly.

“Good,” Dinah says, and kisses her again. She’ll prove herself ten times over if she has to, will kiss Helena until they’re both mad with it.

After that, it’s as if the floodgates have opened, all that repressed desire coming to the surface. Helena gets a hand in Dinah’s hair, and suddenly she’s the one taking control, tugging Dinah’s head back so she can deepen the kiss. Dinah moans into Helena’s mouth as Helena backs her up against the vanity, suddenly desperate for so much more than this.

Fortunately, it turns out Helena’s on much the same page as her.

Helena all but lifts her up onto the bathroom vanity, and from there it’s a race to get undressed as quickly as possible. These aren’t even the tightest pants Dinah owns, but it still takes some manoeuvring to get them off. Helena is overwhelmingly eager, her hands seeming to be everywhere at once: Dinah’s throat, her waist, everywhere _except_ between her legs. Dinah gasps when Helena squeezes her breasts, groans full-throated when she takes a nipple between her teeth, and Dinah can’t wait any longer, she needs Helena and she needs her _now._

“Helena—" Dinah's not above begging, not really, but the word _please_ gets somehow stuck in her throat.

Something about her intention must have been clear though, because a second later, Helena’s dropped to her knees between Dinah’s legs, her mouth just inches from Dinah’s cunt. Dinah wants this desperately, is wet and aching for it, and yet she’s somehow unprepared for the first swipe of Helena’s tongue over her clit.

“Jesus— _fuck._ ”

Dinah flails, scrambling for something to hold onto, something to ground herself with. Her uninjured hand finds its way to Helena’s hair, and it’s not long before she’s pressing Helena’s face to her cunt, searching out more of that feeling. Helena is so eager between Dinah’s legs, licking her with broad strokes of her tongue, as if she’s trying to learn the feel of her. There’s no finesse to Helena’s movements, not when Dinah’s all but grinding her cunt against Helena’s face, frantically chasing her own end.

And Dinah _is_ close, has been from the second Helena got her hands on her body. Helena redoubles her efforts, focusing on Dinah’s clit, and in that moment, Dinah knows that she’s done for. As pleasure builds in her gut and unfurls along every synapse, the part of her brain that’s still capable of conscious thought is struck by a distant realisation.

Dinah was right.

She _should_ get injured more often.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).


End file.
